


Devilish Daydreams

by Hot_Pocket02



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Asexuality Spectrum, Blood, Courtship, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Graphic Description, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Period-Typical Racism, Reader is AFAB - Freeform, Smut, Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22457143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hot_Pocket02/pseuds/Hot_Pocket02
Summary: Waking up is the first step in everyone’s daily schedule. Leaving a dream can feel haunting to the human mind as it goes throughout the day.On the other side of the spectrum, one could find themselves waking up in a sweat. Fear coursing through their veins, the amygdala pulsing with adrenaline as the brain rushes out of the nightmare.Alastor McCarthy’s first step of the day had been tampered with and compromised. When he opened his chocolate eyes every morning at 5:30 am on the dot he didn’t long to return to the land of paradise or fret over imaginary monsters his mind created. Alastor simply woke and got ready, for he can’t understand anymore, the difference between a daydream and a nightmare.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader, Human!Alastor/Reader
Comments: 25
Kudos: 168





	1. Everyone Deserves a Classic

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a Human!Alastor/reader. I used @hazbinhotelandchill 's human name (from Tumblr). I got their permission but decided to change the name Alistair to Alastor due to the lastest Hunicast stream. 
> 
> This work is also on my Tumblr @hot-pocket01

Waking up is the first step in everyone’s daily schedule. Leaving a dream can feel haunting to the human mind as it goes throughout the day. They try so desperately to put the puzzle pieces together in order to relive in the forgotten land. Some try so hard to remember they distract themselves from their jobs. Using daydreams to complete the story, see what happens, and to break down the plot twist. 

On the other side of the spectrum, one could find themselves waking up in a sweat. Fear coursing through their veins, the amygdala pulsing with adrenaline as the brain rushes out of the nightmare. A self-induced illusion of terror and horror. As the person sits up in bed, hurrying their gaze around the room, wondering if the threat was real. If the shiver running down their spines were justified. They hurry out of bed, hoping to forget the night terror they just experienced. They calm their heart rate and finish the first step of the day. 

Alastor McCarthy’s first step of the day had been tampered with and compromised. When he opened his chocolate eyes every morning at 5:30 am on the dot he didn’t long to return to the land of paradise or fret over imaginary monsters his mind created. Alastor simply woke and got ready, for he can’t understand anymore, the difference between a daydream and a nightmare. 

Now, each individual’s daily routine is unique. Some like order while others prefer the livelihood of chaos. To live in the moment, not knowing what will happen next. Alastor McCarthy was not overly fond of those types of people. He liked the order, he liked to keep things consistent. 

Step one of Alastor’s daily schedule: Wake up and get ready. This can include - but not limited to - washing his face; brushing his teeth; combing his straight chestnut hair; putting on his work clothes. Step two: Eat a nutritious breakfast. Alastor cooked two eggs sunny side up with a side of bacon and whole-wheat toast. A glass of orange juice. The warmth of Louisiana allowed the glass to fog with condensation. 

Step three: Go to work. Mr. McCarthy worked downtown in a semi-tall building, around four or five stories. It was a dirty red brick building with ivy running up the side. It led to small insects finding home within the walls of the studio Alastor worked at. He was granted his own channel a few years back. 

Alastor was a well-respected man in Louisiana. Men laughed at his witty jokes, women swooned at his symmetrical face, and children adored his upbeat taste in music. They danced whenever he played their favorite songs. Drivers listened to him as they sped around the city. And while the fame wasn’t a plus in his eyes, Alastor loved his job. He worked from 6:30 am to 11:00 am, giving him enough free time to do as he pleases for the afternoon. On rare occasions, he gets asked to stay late to plan out the next week’s script. 

Step four: Leave work and relax. Alastor’s idea of relaxation was a thing of mystery. More often than not he liked to be alone, strolling through the town, having short friendly conversations with bystanders. Sometimes Alastor would visit his bartender friend, Henry. The young man way, to his dismay, Alastor’s best friend. The two men were close in age (Alastor being 26 and Henry a strapping 24) and in relation. Step five: Return home and prepare. The radio host preferred to keep his nights open, in case anything were to arise or if he was preoccupied, then he would have enough time to get done what needed to be done. 

He followed this schedule without fail every day (on the weekends he followed it the same besides for the work). And for a while, Alastor McCarthy thought nothing would change that. Little did Alastor know that he was very wrong.

It was a weekend, Saturday, to be precise, and Alastor already had a plan for his week. To understand what Alastor’s plan was one must know Alastor was an addict. A “junkie” - as the term would later form - in need of a fix. While it may have looked like it from the outside, Alastor McCarthy was not a perfect man. He had flaws, major ones. And his excellent plan was to indulge in this bad habit. The bad habit that condemned him to hell. Now the first step of his plan was to go to the bookstore.

It wasn’t a large book store nor was it well known. Alastor came across it on one of his afternoon walks, it wasn’t too far from his own house, a ten-minute walk at most. It had a green-blue wooden sign above the door with snow-white print. There were books displayed in the glass windows and advertisements on the glass. As soon as he laid eyes on the small hole in the wall store, a familiar itch nipped at the back of his mind. An itch he hadn’t scratched in some time - too long of a wait. And he needed to scratch, oh so bad. 

Inhaling the air filled with the smell of the street, Alastor kept his bright smile and ventured inside. As he opened the door, bells chimed indicating a potential new customer had walked inside. He walked further, his dress shoes softly tapping against the short carpet.

Alastor immediately saw her, what he came here for. She was across the store, looking at a magazine. Her lipstick was a shade of red that complimented her eyes. Her fingers flipped through the pages carelessly. She didn’t seem to mind if there was damage. Her short flapper hairstyle was modern, sleek against her head. Clearly from the way she stood, hip stuck to the side, she wasn’t exactly pro-women. The term “flapper” was meant to show a strong side of the female gender. To prove they weren’t little things to abuse and that they were strong. The woman holding the magazine was most likely following the trends. 

For a moment her eyes flickered towards him so he walked behind a bookshelf. He grabbed a random book from the shelf and turned his head down, sneaking glances at the women who moved onto another magazine. 

He was observing her when a light tap was felt on his left shoulder. Alastor tensed, he did not like to be touched. Whipping his head around, he snapped the book closed and faced the person who was desperate enough for his attention to invade his personal space. Why didn’t people get the concept of personal bubbles?

Alastor’s eyes peered through his small oval glasses at a figure smaller than his own. A woman. She wore no makeup but was wearing a plain dress with little accents. She had an apron on with the name of the store hand-stitched onto the left breast of the cloth.

“Hi, can I help you, sir?” What Alastor noticed was how angelic her voice was. He shook his head no, perhaps she could satisfy his scratch. The worker nodded and was about to move away when she noticed the book in his grasp. “You’re reading The Great Gatsby? It’s my favorite. What’s your favorite part?”

Alastor smiled stiffly and looked back at Magazine Woman, who was still happily reading and looked back to the woman in front of him. “I enjoyed the ending quite a bit.”

Miss Worker’s listening smile shifted into an unfamiliar, slightly opened smile. She nodded, her hair bounced with her movement, “Ah, yes. I just loved how the robbery didn’t uproot Nick’s life so much.”

Alastor nodded in agreement when he saw the smug look on the woman’s face. Ah shit, he had been caught in a lie. The chestnut-haired man laughed into his chest. “That’s not how this story ends, I presume?”

The worker shook her head, an ever-growing smile on her face. “Not in this book. If you were looking for a book with that ending, I recommend the back shelf at the top.” Alastor changed his smile from a forced one into something genuine. This little darling was very interesting. “I’m Y/n. I’m the manager, can I help you find something you are actually looking for?”

“Well, darling, I’m not quite sure what I am looking for if I’m being honest. I just wandered in here, in hopes of finding something worth my time. Perhaps a cookbook? Or shall I stay here and pretend to read this?” he held up the thin book. 

Y/n fake gasped and snatched the book from his hand, “How dare you say such horrid things. This will be a classic.” He informed her it was published only last year. “I am well aware of that, sir,” she opened the book and flipped through the pages. He watched as her fingers danced across the flutter of the paper. He could tell she was entranced by this object. “People generations from now will read this book and fall in love with the story.” She looked at him teasingly, “So don’t expect me to condone someone insulting this masterpiece in my bookstore.”

He chuckled, “My dear, my name is Alastor.”

“I’m aware of your name Mr. McCarthy. I listen to you on the radio from time to time. So I know who you are, Mr. Radioman.” Alastor chuckled at the nickname. Y/n turned to go back to where ever she planned to go. “And Mr. McCarthy?” He perked up at his name. “The cookbooks are behind you.”

Turning around, Alastor saw the books on the lowest shelves. 

Time had passed, no more than fifteen minutes, when Alastor felt as though he were lingering too long. He found it hard to not stare at the woman who teased him as she went about her business, helping other people as they needed it. Finally, it was time to check out. 

With two cookbooks in hand, Alastor walked to the front counter, his smile never leaving his face. He set the books down and dug into his pocket for his wallet. Y/n picked up the books, placing them into a paper bag with twine handles. She offered her smile as he handed over the amount owed. 

“Did you find everything okay?” Y/n asked as she put the money away. 

The radio host nodded, “I’m not sure I found what I intended to, nor what I sought out in the first place, but I’m pleased with my purchase nonetheless.”

“Well, I’m glad,” she handed him the bag with a smile. Their fingers grazed each other’s and for once, Alastor didn’t mind the light contact. “I hope to see you again soon, Mr. Radioman.”

“Likewise, Ms. Y/n,” Alastor bowed his head as he opened the door, the bells chiming as he left. 

As he walked down the street, humming a happy tune, Alastor noticed something odd about his purchase. There was a third book. And not just any book, it was The Great Gatsby. Confusion made its way into his eyebrows as they furrowed slightly. He parked on the side of the sidewalk, as so to not bump into other people, and reached to grab the book. Sticking out of the book was a note. 

'Everyone deserves a classic.'

He silently chuckled at her neat cursive. He flipped open the book when he saw writing on the first page after the cover. It was originally blank but was used to take another note. The same pretty cursive that was on the small loose piece of paper. 

'Alastor,  
I hope you find what you are looking for. In the meantime, I feel you would enjoy this story’s ending better than the last.'

She signed at the bottom. His finger ghosted over the writing, not wanting to cause any smears from the blue ink. Alastor smiled, this time his eyes held more than just a facade. He put the book back and carried on. 

Alastor thought about it for a moment. Maybe he did find something. Not what he was looking for at the beginning, oh no. Something much different. The reason he could tell? The mental itch nipping at the back of his mind was gone.


	2. You Have Jam on your Face, Bug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> imagine your crush liking you back T-T

The bookkeeper bit her lip as she watched the strange man exit out the glass door. The bells chimed as the doors closed once more. There was a blush dusted across her nose. She wondered what he thought of the little inside joke she slipped into the paper bag. 

Another woman walked beside her, dusting off the identical apron she wore with the same stitching, and nudged the manager’s shoulder. Said woman groaned at her friend’s nosiness. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see that, Bug.”

Y/n walked past the redhead, picking up a stack of books to relocate them to their proper place. “It was a friendly gift, Doris. I like the man’s radio show, so what?”

Doris scoffed and marched to the bookshelf. Y/n placed each book upwards within their rightful spot, occasionally dusting off a cover to make it appear cleaner. She tilted her head at Doris’ attitude. “Ya’ gave him a free book, and with us being women, we could use all the business we could get. You know that yer always on me when I flirt with the eggs that come in here, so I should give ya’ somethin’ for flirting with one too,” she declared with her shoulders back.

It was true. Y/n didn’t like it when Doris batted her eyelashes at every good looking rich man that entered the store. While most of the time they were not eggs, they acted like rich idiots who thought they were the most blessed thing on earth. And Y/n knew they could use any business the two girls could scramble. One, they were both women and women working in this economy was uncommon and sometimes looked down upon. Two, it was a small bookstore barely anyone knew of. A few of the women’s friends and their friends were customers, along with the children who played on the streets. Men came in to either look at Doris’ chest or to actually read. So when Alastor McCarthy was doing neither, it caught Y/n’s attention.

Y/n gave her a look as she moved onto another shelf, repeating the process. “Oh really, and what will you give me?”

Dois smiled and placed her delicate dainty hands on her friend’s shoulders. “A congratulations, Bug. I taught ya’ well, and I suggest we go out to get some giggle water. For celebration,” she moved to the other side of Y/n. “And I didn’t know you were into Creoles. I thought I knew more about my best friend.” Y/n raised her eyebrows. “Oh don’t worry, I’m not one of those racist bastards. As long as he can treat my gal right, he’s good in my book.”

Y/n’s laughter erupted, filling the room with the sound. She shook her head, “You can be too much, you know? Why are you meddling in my business, don’t you have a man to call? Or some work to do?” She put the stack of books in Doris’s hands. Her small shoulders lurching forward at the sudden weight. She huffed as she stood upright, feeling the small cracks of her back as she did. Doris gave her friend a playful look as she moved to the back to finish her job. 

“I was serious about that drink ya’ know! It’s about time ya’ find yourself a man.”

Yn smiled as she leaned onto the front counter. She looked at the pen she used to write the note, wondering if he was ever to return to the little bookstore.

The second time Mr. McCarthy visited the small bookstore, he was all smiles and knew what to look for. It had been around a week and a half when he chose to return, Y/n listened to him everyday thinking it would be the last and she should focus her thoughts on her passion rather than a man she met once. So when he chose to come back when she was taking her break, she was mildly flustered.

Y/n was in the back, taking a sip of her tea and a bite of her biscuit with jam when the familiar sound of chimes bounced off the walls. She knew Doris was out there and if it wasn’t someone she would push out her chest for, the customer would be in safe hands. Hopefully, it was a woman. 

The woman moved the food closer to her mouth when Doris yelled her name. Y/n was startled, dropping the biscuit onto her plate, rushing out to check on her friend. She flung open the door with a force she didn’t know, but her friend could be in danger, and with what has been going on the past few years, Y/n was wary.

She ran towards Doris, not paying attention to the man beside them. “Doris, I rushed here as fast as I could, what’s wrong?”

Everything seemed fine with the redhead. Her hair was perfectly fine, as it always was, makeup was done very nicely. A pearly white smile stretched her ruby lips, her forest-green eyes were crinkled as it grew with each passing second. “Nothing, I just remembered it was my break, and this young man could use some help.” She held out her milky white hand to the customer. Y/n looked over to see who she was talking about. Oh. Oh. It was him.

Alastor stood straight, his hands behind his back, in a three-piece suit. He had on a plaid suit and matching slacks with cap toe oxford shoes and an adorable matching bowtie. A cane was raised from the floor behind his back, it lightly swung back and forth. His chocolate eyes were focused on the woman in front of him behind small-framed reading glasses. His smile was wide on his slightly dark tanned skin.

“Bug, yer starin’. And ya’ got somethin’ on yer face,” Doris’ accent was stronger than normal. It happened when she spoke too fast. Y/n furrowed her eyebrows, trying not to hit Doris for calling her out. Realizing the second thing she said, Y/n wiped her mouth with her hands and found red jam on her fingers. How embarrassing. “Well,” Doris practically sang, “I’ll be upstairs, call me if ya’ need me, Bug.” She moved behind Alastor and gave her friend an exaggerated smile and two thumbs up as she moved up the stairs to no doubt spy.

The silence was broken when Alastor commented, “‘Bug’, what an adorable little nickname.”

Y/n inhaled, tempted to go upstairs and flick Doris on the head for calling her that in front of him. She nodded, “Yes, she has called me that ever since we met.” The man raised his eyebrows, still smiling. “I whacked the back of her head because there was a bug. But I assume you’re not here to talk about why Doris calls me ‘Bug’.” Y/n moved to behind the counter and pulled out her apron from inside the lower cabinet. She could feel his gaze as she tied the strings behind her back. “So, how can I help you?”

Alastor cleared his throat and switched his hands from the back of him to the front. He leaned onto the mahogany cane, his narrow hips slightly bent so he could get closer to her height level. He was a tall man after all. “My dear, I just wished to inform you I finished the little gift you bestowed upon me. It was quite the page-turner.”

Y/n smiled, he liked her gift. Did he think the note on the inside was too much? “That ending better than a robbery?” she gained some of the confidence she had the week and a half prior, feeling more comfortable to talk to him. 

Alastor nodded and chuckled. “Yes, it was. In my defense, it’s not every day you meet a pretty woman who knows how to catch a white lie.”

Shitshitshit he was flirting. Keeping her cool, Y/n decided two could play at that game. “Well, it’s not every day you meet a handsome man who thinks lying to a bookkeeper about a book is a good idea.” She watched his amused face, thankful she played her cards right. Both heard footsteps, it was Doris descending down the staircase. She turned left instead of right so the two were still alone.

“I was wondering, perhaps you would care to join me one evening. We could go more in-depth into the novel. Discuss the characters over a meal?”

Oh wow, he was trying to court her. Keeping it together was becoming very difficult. The way his smirk tugged at his lips and the way his eyes kept their look in hers, not exploring anywhere else. Such a gentleman, it made her want to scream into a pillow. A quiet “I would like that” came from her mouth but she spoke quickly, not trusting her voice. Alastor smiled and said he would too when suddenly Y/n felt a sharp jab come from the back of her ribcage. 

She hissed out the start of a swear before recovering with a cough. Not needing to look behind her, Y/n knew it was Doris. Giving her a push to do what needed to be done. She knew Y/n would chicken out or say something dumb. Still feeling the tingle from where Doris’ bony knuckle jabbed, Y/n covered her unladylike word. “I’m free tonight if you’re not busy,” Y/n suggested. “Does seven work for you?”

Alastor nodded, “I can’t wait.”


	3. He's so Charming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So im thinking of posting every Thursday?

The radioman found himself at the restaurant where Henry worked. The familiar smell of illegal booze and the sound of jazz filled the thick air. Tension was found between the men at the booths with the dim lighting. They were either working out unwanted business or trying not to kill each other. But, who is to say those weren’t one in the same? The cluster of men (most likely bootleggers) dancing and eyeballing the flappers on stage who swung and sung with the music.

Alastor walked to the bar, running his hand on the smooth wooden surface. He was glad there wasn’t any dust on his hands, a dusty bar was no way to run a business, even if it was against the law. (Although, it being New Orleans, police seemed to be more willing to turn a blind eye if they were given a free drink). He pulled up an empty barstool and sat down. He folded his hands waiting for the bartender to ask him the infamous question everyone who sits at a bar knows.

“What can I get you?” A tall man with a strong build looked down as he cleaned a glass with a rag. He looked up, his sharp grey eyes piercing Alastor’s coffee ones. “Oh, it’s you. What do you want?” 

Alastor smiled and tilted his head, “Ah, Henry my good friend. Charmed to see you.”

Henry rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, you gonna buy a drink or not?”

Alastor ordered a glass of water, “My friend, I have some good news!”

Henry looked at him while sliding his glass to the man. He gave Alastor a look stating he didn’t care. “You got another job for me?” the tar blacked hair man mumbled.

Another job? Oh no, his itch had no need for scratching for the moment. This was something new to Alastor. Truth be told he had no idea why he chose to ask for the girl’s company this afternoon. He had been thinking of her, whenever he’d see someone with the same style dress she wore or when someone picked up the weekly paper. Even at his job he wondered what Ms. Y/n would think of that week’s guest. She caused a new unfamiliar twisty feeling deep in his gut. He was not sure what he thought of the feelings yet, but decided to chase it and pinpoint the reason she was invading his thoughts.

“No, my friend. I’m still picking up the pieces from our last little endeavour.” Henry glared at him, just wanting the man to get to the point. “I have asked a little darling to accompany me this evening. I was wondering if you could assist in giving me a few pointers on how to understand the little dear.” He took a sip of his icy water.

Henry could not believe what he was hearing. Alastor fucking McCarthy was spending the evening with a woman. In all the years of their friendship - Alastor’s words not his - Henry had never seen the radio host take interest in anyone. 

“You want me to tell you how to get into a girl’s bedroom?”

Alastor gave a boisterous laugh and shook his head. “No no no, I am fully capable of sneaking into a stranger’s house, Henry, you know that.” His laughter settled down. “How do I understand her?”

Henry picked up another glass and began to wipe. “Alastor, most people like you, for some unknown fucking reason. Just ask her interests and then do whatever it is you have planned.”

Alastor hummed in response. He took out his leather wallet and placed a dollar bill on the counter. ‘For the advice’ he told Henry as he stood up. The man pocketed the bill and watched as the man, wondering what he was going to do with the poor mysterious woman who caught that monster’s attention.

7 o’clock rolled around sooner than Alastor expected. For the third time that day he heard the bells chime, signalling his entrance. The store was closed, which explained why the lights were off. The evening light shone through the large windows, allowing him to see the particles of dust floating around. Disgusting. A voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“I’ll be down in a second!” He told her to take her time, although he would rather she didn’t. He was not a fan of being behind schedule. He heard light footsteps as they grew louder the closer she got. She pulled his attention from the last couple steps. “Am I underdressed?”

He followed her outfit starting from her hair to her shoes. At the top she wore a sparkly hairpiece. It looked too expensive for her to own it. It was most likely borrowed from that loud redhead she associated herself with. It was the only jewelry she wore, her neck, ears, arms, and fingers being bare. At her shoulders was the start of a laced dress that ended at the waist and turned into a reddish fabric he couldn’t identify in this lighting. She wore little black heels that completed the look.

“Darling, you look exquisite.”

She lowered her head bashfully at his compliment. He outstretched his arm for her to grab onto. She smiled at his politeness and the two made their way after locking up the store. 

Outside they could feel the music that flowed out the homes of so many residents of New Orleans. There were people out on the street both old and young. Children were getting pulled into their homes to be tucked safe and sound, all snuggled against their blankets and warmed by their kisses goodnight. Couples were out drinking and dancing, laughing at the memories being played out in front of them. Older citizens were either going home or staying behind the counter until the bar chose to kick them out or close.

Alastor and Y/n turned the corner, the nightfall cooling down the normally hot city. The two spoke of their jobs and how their lives were. Alastor told her the fascinating people he got to meet from his job. The celebrities he interviewed and what they were like in person. She told him how she came to her position at the bookstore. She ran away from home with the help of her best friend that lived here, who Alastor learned was that dashing freckled redhead with the voicebox of an eagle, and met an old man. He had no family and Y/n was the closest thing he had to a daughter, so in his will he gave her the shop. He claimed she was the only one with the knowledge and passion of books to run the store like he had. The only person he met who truly loved books.

“I’ve always wanted to be an author,” Y/n kicked at the dirt as they continued to walk. “But I lack inspiration. Nothing interesting has happened to me yet, so I embrace my love for stories with the store.”

Alastor watched as she talked about writing, how she used to write short stories as a child but her parents forced her into giving up such a foolish fantasy. A dream she would never achieve. He pitied her. She had such a magnificent brain, he could listen to her thoughts and rants for hours if she’d let him. It was weird, he never enjoyed when people talked about themselves for too long. It was something he was used to given his job but nothing he honestly cared for. 

“Sorry, I’m droning on about nothing. You must be tired of hearing people talk about themselves like they own the world,” she looked at him. “Tell me more about yourself. What’s behind the radio?” Her lips curled into a smirk. 

Alastor laughed, how did she know? “There isn’t much to say, darling. I’ve always loved entertaining and so I took the first chance I got.” Y/n tilted her head, allowing herself to see her date at an angle. She raised her eyebrow when he met her eye line. She wanted to know more about him. Alastor sighed, “I was born into a middle class family. My father abandoned my mother and I when I was young.” Y/n watched as his beautiful brown eyes hinted with a flash of red. It must have been a touchy subject.

“So, what do you have planned for this evening?”

Alastor knew she was steering the conversation away from abandonment. He definitely did not, but silently, thank her for it. “Patience darling, good things come to those that wait,” he hummed. She smiled and gripped his arm, waiting to see what happened next.


	4. Jack the Page Ripper

The morning sun greeted the inside of the bookstore. The rays hitting the bookshelves warmed the wood ever so slightly so if consumers were to take their place on the floor their back would feel the sun. This was one of Y/n’s favorite moments of the day. Where the town was starting to erupt with life, men started to go to their day jobs along with the few women who chose to work. A moment of almost stillness that was about to evaporate in the New Orleans air.

It was also Y/n’s favorite time because she was able to listen to Alastor on the radio. It had been a while, three months next week, since the two had started their courtship. After their first night out, a lovely walk through the streets that ended with a night of dancing, Alastor asked her to accompany him once more. After that it was her turn until the two decided they enjoyed each other’s company to talk most days. 

She had met his friend, and what seemed like Alastor’s only friend, Henry. He was a server at a local restaurant and occasionally sold liquor on the side. A fine bootlegger with connections. Y/n was happy to meet him but Henry seemed put off. He looked confused but ultimately did not seem to care. Alastor waved him off and explained how he was a grump she shouldn’t pay attention to.

Alastor’s voice felt like warm honey, if warm honey could be put into a sound. The way he laughed at his own jokes made her recall all the times they’ve made each other laugh. The way his shoulders shook with each rumble and his eyes squinted. Whenever she made a witty joke that really caused him to lose his breath, the tall man would pull her close to his side. There she would be able to feel his heart and laughed alongside him, resting her head against him.

“Bug!” Doris pulled her friend out of her daydream. She dropped her gaze and returned it back to Y/n’s eyes. The red head gave an open sly smile. “You haven’t gotten into bed with him yet?”

Y/n rolled her eyes and continued her job of stamping books with the name of her store. Ever since she and Alastor had become official, Doris kept asking when the two had partaken in the act of sex. They had not, much to Y/n’s dismay. She was frustrated and everytime she asked it caused more agitation to build up.

“Alastor and I are going to keep that part of our lives private,” she stamped with a touch of force.

Doris hummed as she grabbed the stamped books and placed them in their new homes on the shelf. “You sure he doesn’t have another girl on the side?”

Another forceful mindless stamp.

“It makes sense,” she kept going, adding more books onto the shelf. “I mean, he did leave for a week.”

Y/n’s stamp left an indent on the next page. “He is a hunter, Doris. He was on a hunting retreat.”

Doris looked into the oval mirror that was wedged between two of the bookshelves. She touched her hair, making sure each and every one of her fly aways were smoothed down. She pushed her tongue against her bottom lip, pushing it flat to see if her lipstick was out place. 

“Are you sure, Bug? Because I remember when Walter told me he and his friends were on a golf trip up in -”

“Doris!” A loud stamp filled the room. Doris became a deer stuck in headlights. Her eyes were abnormally wide and her mouth hung slightly. Here eyes flickered to the poor book, the page was practically ripped. A long jagged torn split the beige page. She would never do that to a book. A chime filled the pregnant silence. A customer walked in, oblivious to the tension.

Y/n inhaled and looked at the damage she caused. She clenched her jaw and slowly closed the book. Taking the story in her hand, she slipped it under the desk, putting it to its resting place for the moment. Perhaps it would go on the discount shelf. A shame really, discounts on stories, but some things needed to be done.

Y/n’s throat was dry, it was tough to swallow. Shit, she didn’t mean to be dramatic. “Doris, I’d prefer it if you dropped it. Alastor and I are fine, we are taking things slow.” It was such a foolish thing to be upset over. It was good they were taking things slow. That meant more time for them to get to know each other. Right? 

Doris nodded, running her manicured nails on her palms, taking comfort in the feeling it provided. It was rare for her friend to outburst like that. It meant this was serious and she should stop now before heading into dangerous waters. 

Y/n picked up a basket that was next to the counter. She placed the woven basket on the counter, checking to see if everything was in its place. “I’m going to have a late breakfast with Alastor, please keep things under control here.”

“Okay, Bug.” Doris watched as Y/n left the chiming doors. 

“That’s all for this morning’s news, folks! Stay tuned for the terrific hits after this short message,” Alastor smiled into the microphone as he signed off for the day. Y/n could hear him, the door muffled him and the opaque window only allowed her to see the outline of his body. She watched him click the button and the red light turned off. Now it was safe for her to make herself known.

She lightly tapped the glass, feeling it shake under her knuckle. The head behind the door turned to face the door. He tilted his head and stood up, opening the door. Y/n stepped back and smiled as Alastor fixed his head. He returned the smile and opened his arms. 

“Ah, Y/n, my lovely dame. What can I do for you?”

Y/n held the basket with two hands and held it up for show. “I made us breakfast.”

He eyed the object. He could smell the homemade food, the savory taste filling his throat. "My dear, it's a tad late for breakfast, don't you think? I already ate."

She raised her eyebrows. Well why waste all this good food? "Then you mind keeping me company while I enjoy my early lunch? I'm famished, I haven't eaten all day."

He smiled and nodded, placing a hand on her lower back. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead as they entered the room. Y/n smiled, forgetting all the fuss from earlier.

Alastor's studio wasn't the biggest but it certainly was not the smallest. Y/n had seen some offices in the building and they were smaller than her closet. The radio host had no clutter on his desk. In fact, the whole room was tidy. The only thing loosely resembling a mess was the small pile of papers that weren't evened out. Their pages stuck out at odds end, defying the stack and adding to the classic four angles. It was one of the things Y/n liked about Alastor. He was clean.

She set the basket down on his chair and picked up the papers. Tapping them onto the table, she smoothed it out the best she could. Returning it to its place, Y/n grabbed the basket and moved to the oak bench Alastor had at the window. It gave them a perfect view of their city. 

Alastor sat next to her, his hand moving through her hair. She peered up at him and the two began to talk about their morning.


	5. Freak

Alastor was confused. It didn’t happen often, in fact, there were only a handful of times he remembered actually being confused. He never expressed his perplexed thoughts as he deemed them to be a sign of weakness. And Alastor was not weak. He couldn’t be weak because if he was, then he would not be here. 

He leaned down and pecked his dame’s lips goodbye. Her lips were soft and he was thankful for the taste of the cream cheese topping she ate was washed away by her tea. Although he was a coffee man, he did not mind her drink. She didn’t use any sweetener. Y/n told him if someone can’t handle tea as it is then they should not be drinking it in the first place. He nodded in agreement. 

He waved her off while confirming their plans for dinner that night. He was making his infamous jambalaya. Y/n simply adored the story behind the dish, how his mother taught him the way around a kitchen. Alastor enjoyed watching her animated features light up at his storytelling. 

Ever since Y/n had entered his life his schedule was rearranged. He still had his order but she added a new flair to his day. She would come by and drop off food, much like she did today. He didn’t mind it, she was a great cook (nothing compared to him of course). His dame quickly picked up the jambalaya recipe and surprised him one day. He was shocked but impressed nonetheless. But he still found himself irked by the fact he was sharing a part of his life with another. 

Alastor smiled and let go of the door’s handle, the brass was warmed from his body heat. It was time for him to pack his things for the day and retire to his home. Henry was supposed to come over to review his next assignment. 

Alastor could not wait. He rolled his head back to extend the familiar feeling of an itch all throughout his body. It gave him an incentive, a reason for his patience. The radioman knew he would be able to savor the delectable reward. He could practically taste it. 

A rapping sound interrupted him. He turned back from his desk to see a larger shadow standing behind the glass. He knew who it was. Fixing his posture with a roll of his shoulders Alastor opened the door once more, smiled widely, and to add a cherry on top, he tilted his head slightly. 

A smaller man than he stood before Alastor. His frame was wide as if he was built to throw a punch. The white button-down he wore was rolled to his elbows, showing off his hairy white arms. His shirt led to the man’s rough face. His square jaw was covered in grey stubble, showing his true age. He was one of the few, if not the only, men Alastor knew that dyed their hair. His pale blue eyes would have been a nice addition to his face if they were not accompanied by the dark circles. Oh, how Alastor hated this man.

“Virgil, my dearest coworker,” Alastor greeted with a lie. “To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?” Again, another lie.

Virgil snarled at the radioman which caused Alastor’s grin to only grow. He curled his fist and crossed his arms. “Boss wanted me to tell you there’s a meeting this weekend.” 

Alastor leaned to meet his eye level, taunting him. It was the only thing Alstor gained out of their interactions. A little thing to poke at for his entertainment. 

“Why, thank you, Virgil. I’ll be sure to be on time.”

Virgil growled at his cheerful attitude and glared as he walked down the hall to continue doing whatever nonsense he wanted. Alastor knew Virgil returned the feelings he had. Alastor got the promotion over the short white man. When he came to shake hands with the man and call it a truce, he learned Virgil’s true feelings for people of color. But Alastor didn’t want to relish those memories. Shame if he was being honest. He couldn’t use him to satisfy his itch. Virgil, even though he was an awful person, was someone Alastor knew. He had a connection with him. It was a string Alastor would not let trace back to him.

Alastor turned the heat down to simmer on the stove. The jambalaya bubbled as it absorbed the flame’s heat from below. The aroma filled the air and he knew it was almost done. Alastor covered the pot and let it bubble. 

Henry was on the couch, slouched back with a glass bottle in his right hand. He looked lazily at the host who was smiling brightly. He regretted coming over for the small "chat" Alastor asked for.

Said man walked into the room, wiping his hands dry with a rag and sat down in the plump tan chair. He dropped the cloth onto his glass coffee and leaned slightly back (his version of relaxing) with his hands folded on his lap.

"So, what the fuck did you want?"

Alastor exhaled sharply through his nose in thought. Normally he wouldn't go out of his way to ask for help, especially when it came to this obnoxious thing called emotions but he found himself in an awkward position. And whenever he felt that way, Henry was usually the only person who could be of any assistance. 

“Henry, what do you think of Y/n?”

Henry’s thick black eyebrows rose in question. He only met the woman a few times prior, briefly, and he didn’t pay much attention to her. “What do you care? Isn’t she just your cover or some shit?”

“Cover?” Alastor tilted his head. “Whatever do you mean?”

Henry groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wondered how a genius could be so dense. 

“She’s your cover Alastor. You’re seeing her to show that you’re not,” he gestured to the man in front of him. “You. The real you or whatever. The one I know. Y/n’s there so you seem less like a fucking freak.”

Alastor’s throat went dry. Was he really using her for a higher social status? Well, he wouldn’t consider it higher since she wasn’t of high class but he understood his friend’s logic. Perhaps he should have rethought inviting her over for dinner.

Speaking of the devil, there was a double knock on the door signaling her arrival. Alastor shot up to open the door. He turned the knob to reveal the lady he was talking about. She wore the dress she wore before, her hair pinned back with a bright smile on her face. He noticed her lips were tinted a darker shade than they were earlier, it drew attention to her eyes. How has he never noticed how vibrant they were?

“My lovely Y/n, we were just speaking of you.” He moved to the side to let her in. 

“Oh, Henry, what a pleasant surprise. Are you joining us for dinner?” Y/n smiled. 

He shook his head, quickly finished the bottle and went to leave, not wanting to be a part of what may come next. Grumbling a half-hearted goodbye he went for the door. Almost making it to the exit, a hand latched onto his muscular arm. 

“Henry,” Alastor looked at the man. “You are wrong. I know what you think I might do but I would never.” Henry looked at the man up and down. A familiar look fell upon Alastor’s face. “Not when there’s her,” he offered a small card between his fingers. Henry grabbed it and read the name on the card. He glared at Alastor and ripped his arm away and gruffed an “ok” before having the door close on him. The cold nipped at his exposed skin so he shoved his hands in his coat pocket. 

“Fucking freak.”


End file.
